Cooking Up A Storm
by makesometime
Summary: Who says a stove is only for cooking? Set during Season One, no spoilers.


A/N: This is dedicated to skykissedwindknight and inspired by her wonderful story **Advice**. My fic is based on the following excerpt:

She's terrified to respond. She's already heard more stories about both their partners then she's ever needed. Frankly, she'll never be able to look at either her father or the Commander without turning an impossible shade of red. On that note, she'll never be able to look at: stairs, walls, rovers, tables, **the stove (what in the name of god had processed them to try **_**that**_**?)** and a slew of other unassuming household objects without needing to leave the room.

* * *

><p>He feels her eyes on him, watching. Feels the slight smirk on her face as she does so. They've known each other long enough that he feels he can put a pretty safe bet on her facial expression due to his current actions at any given moment in time (and has actually done this a couple of times with Shannon before the man cottoned on and got smart to the ruse).<p>

"Wash..." He warns, and the smirk turns into a smile.

"Sir?"

"You're staring."

She hums happily, moving to lean against the counter beside him. "I love watching you cook."

He laughs. "No you don't. And I'm not cooking yet."

She shrugs, walks behind him slowly and trails a hand along the length of his shoulders. "Fine, I love watching you _prepare_ to cook, how's that?"

"Better, since you know what happens when I try taking it any further than that."

Wash snickers as she rests her elbows on the counter the other side of the stove top. She places her chin on upturned hands and tilts her head to observe him cutting up vegetables and preparing the fish she'd brought back from OTG and demanded he do something with.

She'd been stuck out there for four days with a science team who completely misled her to their intended task – they won't be getting out of the gate for a hell of a long time now – leaving her with nothing to do but keep watch and fish. She had been absolutely _fuming_ when she drove the rover back through the gates, the science team scurrying off with their bags before she could turn her anger back on them.

Taylor remembers her shoving the cooler into his chest as she started unloading the rest of her things. "You're making dinner tonight." She'd said, before storming off for a shower.

Which is what leads to his presence in her quarters. She loves him occupying her space alongside her, has told him so on many occasion, and it's hell to not exploit it. To say he's taking his time over getting things ready before he hands actual chef duties over to her would be an understatement – he just enjoys being watched, especially enjoys the possessive glint she gets in her eye when she does so.

Not that he'll ever tell her this.

"Domestic suits you." She says, slowly. "Shouldn't, but it does."

"Why thank you, ma'am." He grins, placing the knife down on the cutting board. "All done."

She groans, almost flying at him, her arms winding around his neck to pull his lips to hers desperately. "Thank god." She murmurs when they break for air, his hands overcoming their initial surprise and gripping her ass firmly.

She pulls away from him – too damn soon, he thinks – but then she's hopping up on the counter and he suddenly doesn't care.

Though... actually.

"What are you doing?"

Instead of answering, her legs shoot out and hook around his waist, pulling him to her. He's always loved her strength, especially when used in this kind of situation, but the moment is slightly lost on him when he realises she's sitting on the stove.

"We're not cooking _you_." He says, bracing his hands on the safe area of plain counter top either side of her. His lips twitch a little at the next thought that goes through his head.

She grins at him, reading his mind. "Go on, say it."

He grins in reply. "You're hot enough already."

She laughs properly, squeezing her legs around him as she places her hands behind her, perfectly over two of the heating rings.

"When you told me to make dinner I can't say this is what I had in mind." He says, reaching for her hips and intending to lift her off and onto the wooden surface behind them. Instead she hooks her fingers around the edge of the stove and refuses to budge. "Such a bad idea, Wash."

"Why?"

"One stray thrust hits the controls and suddenly you've got third degree burns in places the Doc won't ever let you live down?" He offers.

She just grins, infuriatingly sure of him. "Come on, live dangerously. I trust you."

"I don't care, I don't trust my..._self_." He just about gets the end of the word out as her hand snakes between them and eases his zipper down before slipping inside. She finds him bare underneath and grins wickedly at her new knowledge.

"Looks like you were prepared for something." She says, teasing light touches over his skin as she works him into submission.

"You are such a bad influence." He grumbles, squeezing his hands on her hips before he reaches for the hem of her shirt and tugs it up and off, throwing it behind him. "Should've known you'd have ulterior motives."

"Oh no, I still want dinner." She grins, breathing faster as he runs his hands over the exposed skin of her torso. "But it's been _four days_, Nathaniel. I don't have the patience of a saint."

He chuckles. "Four days for me too, remember."

She pulls back, raises an eyebrow. Her expression dares him to discount what she'd done for him when reporting in during her wide perimeter walk two nights ago.

"Your voice and my hand don't count." He says, almost sulking, hating to lose even a competition of this small size.

"Damn sight more than what I got." She huffs, but her annoyance is sated when he pulls her bra strap down her arm and lowers one of the cups to lean forward and pull her nipple into his mouth. She groans, one hand moving to the back of his head to hold him in place as he nips and tugs with his teeth and lips until she relaxes underneath him.

Her hand jerks against him and he starts in response, switching to her other breast while one-handedly removing the remaining material from her body. When he pulls back she's putty in his hands, head tipped back and blissful expression on her face.

"You sure you want this? Perfectly serviceable bed in the other room." He grins, hitching one of her legs higher around him as her hand leaves him to hold onto the edge of the counter. "I know this from experience."

She growls and tugs his hand to between her legs, showing the initiative he's always adored. He rubs hard against her as she tries to reply. "Sure... here. Don't want to... wait." She says, whining a little when he removes his hand from her.

He doesn't keep her waiting long, pulling his own top over his head before returning to her. He lowers her zipper and it's his turn to tease, dragging his fingertips over damp cotton until she's gripping him so hard with her thighs that he fears she might leave marks behind.

The material soon poses no further problems as fingers slip under elastic and he passes them through her wetness while she shudders. "You know, I don't think this particularly hygienic."

She's aware of herself enough to laugh as she presses back against his touch. "I have disinfectant." She pauses, her forehead creasing. "That is the least erotic thing anyone has ever said during sex."

He barks out a laugh, slowly pulling her pants and underwear down, incredibly grateful they'd both already removed their boots when they slip unimpeded to the floor. Her hands move to his own waistline and shove the material down and he steps out of it, kicking both items of clothing away across the floor.

He lines himself up with her and, before he has time to reconsider, moves forward, slowly inching inside her as they both make noise of appreciation.

Wash's husky cry is sinful but it doesn't stop his caution – he stills when his thighs hit the front of the stove despite there still being a gap between his hips and the controls.

She moves one hand to his ass to encourage him further but he's steady against her and she groans in disappointment. "You're not going to hurt me. The controls only work with fingers." She reminds him.

"_Should _only work with fingers. Explain why Shannon nearly burnt my quarters down knocking against the stove with his forearm?"

Wash presses against his ass again and gasps as his hips shift a minute amount. "Can we _not_ talk about Shannon at a time like this?"

Taylor grins, decides to try getting her a little more flustered. "I've seen the way you look at him sometimes, like you can't figure out if you want to kiss him or punch him..."

She looks so completely offended by his words that he can't help but laugh, until her hand leaves his ass and cups the back of his head, fingernails digging in. "Shut the hell up and fuck me, Nathaniel."

He can't do anything less than comply to an order like that. He shunts his hips forward until he's as deep as the position will allow, Wash shifting her weight back to her supporting arm and drawing him along with her.

The surface doesn't allow a lot of movement from her but she rocks her hips encouragingly against his as he thrusts, earlier hesitation forgotten as his lieutenant writhes beneath him. Her hand winds tightly into his hair, bringing his lips to hers, swallowing his quiet gasps and moans.

Still unwilling to risk it, he keeps his hands away from the edge of the stove, one bracing most of his weight against the counter beside them, the other winding around her waist to grip at her opposite hip and hold her against him firmly.

Considering they've been apart for half a week they both hold out longer than he expected, enjoying the contact between their bodies too much to rush things. Wash lets out breathy little moans in his ear, just about the best thing he's ever heard, and he adjusts his angle slightly in response, drawing a proper throaty moan from her.

"Harder." She just about manages to verbalise.

He does as she asks, ignoring the metallic squeaking that increases as they move against each other. Wash's bed has a tendency to creak when they're really going for it, nearly creating awkward situations with the night patrol guards a hundred times over – he's learnt to not let the little things bother him. _Especially_ when Wash's nails are scratching delicious lines down his back.

Wash breaks first, helped along by his hand rubbing quick circles around her clit. She pulls her mouth away from his ear to let out an elated shout of completion, loud enough to alert anyone who happens to be passing to exactly what's happening within the building. He finds this only encourages him; wanting to draw out her pleasure he continues to touch her sensitised skin as her muscles clench rhythmically around him.

Her arms encircle his neck as she endures his attentions, leaving him to support her entire weight as the flow of his thrusts starts to falter. Determined to make up for the release she gave him while OTG before he comes himself, his fingers move faster and his lips find her throat to suck at the areas he's learnt to be especially sensitive to his mouth.

Her head shakes against him as she realises what he's doing but he simply grins and presses down harder, pinching at the bundle of nerves. Her hips buck as she comes again, her second release almost silent as she pulls herself tightly against him.

"Let go, Nathaniel." She whispers.

Her voice can do – _has done_ – extraordinary things to him and this time is no different. With one final thrust he joins her, spilling deep inside her with a long groan of contentment.

They stay entwined for several minutes, catching their breath and coming down from the high together. Eventually she shifts uncomfortably against him, the glass top digging into her thighs and he steps back to allow her down from the surface. He stumbles back into the support of the counter behind him as she presses a light kiss to his lips before grabbing her clothes and rushing off to clean up.

When she returns the first thing she does is collect a bottle of cleaning fluid and a cloth to start attacking the stove. She stops just before she reaches it and a laugh bubbles out of her. Taylor turns his head to look at the source of her amusement and sees the stove standing out of its alcove by a good couple of inches - they'd managed to rock the damn thing so much that they'd shunted it out of position. He can't help laughing as well, helping her push it back so she can clean up after them.

He's just finished pulling on his pants when she attempts to turn the hob on and, save for a low mechanical whine, nothing happens.

"... That didn't sound right." He says, joining her in front of the stove.

She taps at the touch screen a few times fruitlessly but it doesn't respond, frozen in displaying the basic interface.

"I think we broke it sir."

"We broke the stove?"

She nods, reaching over to the power supply to turn it off and back on again. When it doesn't even spring to life this time she frowns.

Taylor nudges her out the way and reaches behind the stove to the power inlet. He jiggles the connection a few times and it suddenly whirrs, resetting itself back to normal operating parameters.

Wash tries the hob again and it works first time and she smiles in relief – neither of them would have enjoyed explaining _that_ to a tech crew.

"Maybe we should avoid electrical equipment in future?" She offers, gathering all the necessary equipment to start on their meal.

He moves behind her, nuzzling her neck as she adds the vegetables to the pan. "Shame. I had great plans for the refrigerator."


End file.
